No one's ever done that before.I had been willing to kill Timothy and destroy my life to be free of him. And Timothy stopped that.
"Carla."
I blink.Timothy is standing in front of me now, close enough to touch.
"You're shaking," he says.
I look down at my hands.He's right.They're trembling.
"I'm fine," I say again.
"Stop saying that."
"What do you want me to say?"
"The truth."
I laugh, but it comes out bitter."The truth is I'm tired.I'm tired of running.I'm tired of being scared.I'm tired of looking over my shoulder every second of every day.And I'm tired of pretending I have any control over my life when clearly I don't."
"You have control."
"Do I?Because it doesn't feel like it.It feels like I'm just reacting.Just surviving.And now I'm dragging you into my mess, and you're going to get hurt because of me, and I don't know how to stop that from happening."
"I'm not going to get hurt."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do."He reaches up and cups my face with both hands, tilting my head back so I have to look at him."I've been doing this a long time, Carla.Handling threats.Neutralizing targets.I know what I'm doing."
"Randall isn't some target.He's Special Forces.He's trained.He's dangerous."
"So am I."
"You don't understand.He's obsessed.He's not going to stop until he gets what he wants."
"Then I'll make sure he doesn't get it."
I want to believe him.God, I want to believe him so badly.
But I've been let down too many times.By the system that was supposed to protect me.By the people who were supposed to believe me.By myself for thinking I could handle Randall on my own.
"You should eat something," Timothy says, dropping his hands."You look like you haven't had a real meal in days."
He's right.I've been living on coffee and whatever I can grab between shifts at the diner.
"Okay," I say.I can’t fight him anymore and truth be told, I don’t wan to.
He goes back to the kitchen, and I sink onto the couch, watching him move around the space.He's comfortable here.This is his territory.His sanctuary.
And he's letting me into it.
I don't know what to do with that.
He cooks the chicken in a pan, adds the vegetables, seasons everything with things I don't recognize.The apartment fills with the smell of garlic and something spicy.
My stomach growls.Loudly.
Timothy glances over his shoulder and smirks."When's the last time you ate?"
